


True Diverticula

by whathappened



Series: Serial Anastomoses [2]
Category: Medicine - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: 2022areyoureadyforpart2, Assholery, M/M, Surprise Angst, Swearing, any resemblances to real people are purely coincidental, bish no, i mean that in all seriousness, more like im shippine the anthropomorphized books, shh let me be, so anyway im not actually shipping the authors, that i had shame left???, there is a lot of swearing ok be warned, yall thought i was done???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whathappened/pseuds/whathappened
Summary: Netter is often many steps ahead of Moore. This is no exception.





	True Diverticula

**Author's Note:**

> set about one year before the events of 'anatomical variations' but like dont ask me for timeline specifics bc i have none to give
> 
> many, many thanks to the lovely [thehuntress_88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehuntress_88/pseuds/thehuntress_88) for agreeing to beta this super self-indulgent fic hahaha love u bhe<3
> 
> and advanced hbd to maita, one of my staunchest supporters who never gave up on this story getting a sequel HAHAHAH mwah hope u enjoy <3
> 
> happy pride month y'all!

Netter is many things, but a liar is not one of them.

 

He ponders this in class, in the middle of a(nother) droll lecture about the lower extremities – _don’t worry, we won’t be asking about the origins or insertions of muscles! Just focus on the lecture_ _–_ idly sketching the pretty, pretty ligaments and tendons and shiny cartilage that make up a knee joint. His steady hand inks clean lines that are strong, flowing, _dynamic_ – only the best for the largest joint in the human body. The end result is of course, beautiful, the human knee stripped bare to its constituent parts, stunning in its deceptive simplicity. Netter is an _artist_.

 

“ – with all that in mind, please prepare half a sheet of paper, it’s time for a quiz.” The collective panic of 300 students suddenly scrambling to acquire some last-minute limb factoids must be music to the professor’s ears.

 

Netter loves anatomy, really, but he had only spared half an ear to the lecture, having gotten a little bit too into his sketching. But Netter, fortunately, is also somewhat friends with Moore, who reads the relevant chapters at least twice before lectures and whose tendency to mumble increases exponentially the closer it gets to class time. Netter figures he’s picked up enough at this point through sheer simple diffusion, if nothing else.

 

Twenty questions later – half of which are on muscle origin-insertion because the lecturer is a _lying liar who lies_ – Netter caps his pen and leans back indolently as he exchanges papers with his seat mates for checking. He shoots his widest grin at Moore, who scoots away while squinting at him suspiciously. He’s probably blinded by Netter’s pure charm.

 

Still, Netter is undeterred. Moore is actually a much better lecturer than the ones they’ve gotten so far, for all that he is unaware of it. It would be a disservice not to show appreciation for the help Moore has unwittingly given him. “Thanks, man,” he tells Moore, making sure to convey all his gratitude in those two syllables. Netter, after all, is the epitome of _gracious_.

 

(Strangely, this only makes Moore edge even further away from him.)

 

Netter’s quiz comes back to him with a shiny red “20” written on top, and he smirks in satisfaction. Netter is many things, and one of them is _genius_.

 

* * *

 

“Netter is an annoying little _shit,_ ” Moore declares venomously.

 

A nearby peon snickers. “Gee, don’t hold back, tell us what you _really_ feel, Moore.” Moore gives that comment the scathing look it deserves.

 

Netter, meanwhile, is deeply offended. He’s a _delightful_ person; people should be thankful he deigns to grace them with his presence at all. “Awwww Moore, you don’t mean that.” Because Moore is the one most often taking the brunt of Netter’s charming personality and he _knows_ Netter. They’re _friends_.

 

“I have never meant anything more in my _life_ ,” Moore says, with a vehemence that leaves Netter utterly aghast. _How dare he_. Moore resolutely goes back to typing, ignoring Netter who is pouting spectacularly. _How fucking dare_.

 

Netter is not going to let this slide. “What did I do to deserve such vicious slander against my stalwart character?” he demands.

 

Moore doesn’t answer, but the peon does. “You mean, what _didn’t_ you do?” Netter glares at him, but the peon’s snickers only grow louder in response.

 

He’s innocent! Netter thinks back to the last several minutes. Okay, the past hour. But nope, nothing, _nothing_ that could possibly warrant such ferocious defamation of his laudable attributes.

 

They’ve been working on a group report since classes ended for the day. Said report is also due in two days, and the professor’s kind of a hard-ass so they’re pulling out all stops. “They” being Moore, the peon, and the rest of the stooges that got lumped into the group.

 

(To be fair, they make a good team. They’ve divided the work equally and everyone is working diligently. Top that off with Moore, who is utterly brilliant at whatever he sets his mind to do - and Moore had set his mind to being a _writer_ since before he’d been in diapers. They’re going to fucking _ace_ this report.)

 

Except, well. Netter is easily bored. He can’t help it! His thoughts go a mile a minute, _at the very least_ , and with little appreciably dynamic stimuli he grows restless and agitated. He had started with tapping his pen erratically, then his foot, and then his fingers on the table, before he was collectively shushed by the stooges. So he had moved on to messing with Moore, his kind-of friend, because his reactions are always amusing. Netter hadn’t bothered with the stooges anymore, because they didn’t _know_ him – nor he, they – and he didn’t want to _interfere_ with their workflow. See? Netter is _considerate_.

 

Moore, however. Moore is used to Netter. Netter knows exactly which buttons to push to get Moore’s delightful scowls and adorable kitten-glares, and Netter had been confident that Moore knew him enough to take his distrac – er, pursuits of recreation, in stride without messing up productivity. They’d done this before. So Netter had poked and prodded, moved stationery around, doodled on important papers, occasionally kept Moore’s precious coffee out of arms-reach, hummed some _Ex B_ only within Moore’s earshot, and generally basked in the free entertainment that Moore offered. It kept Netter sane.

 

But, well. Apparently he had driven Moore _in_ sane. So maybe Netter had miscalculated a bit. Looking back, he could _maybe_ see how his actions could have, probably – hypothetically – been just a tiny little bit, _possibly_ misconstrued as, well. _Annoying_.

 

Netter shudders. Okay, he can concede to the point.

 

Notably, though, he doesn’t stop. Netter doesn’t like being ignored.

 

In a matter of minutes, their quiet working atmosphere is shattered by an agonized scream akin to an affronted cat loudly expressing its displeasure by doing its best attempts at breaking eardrums. Holy shit, did that come from _Moore_? Because the pure frustration coloring his voice is _beautiful_. Netter knew Moore wouldn’t neglect him for long. His grin is probably ridiculously shit-eating by now, but honestly, who cares, because Moore –

 

“ _Fucking_ stop _bothering me you_ absolute _piece of_ shit!”

 

Oh. Oh wow. Abort, _abort the fuck out, Netter_.

 

(Their groupmates are all very conspicuously silent. _Judgingly_ silent. A _we-wash-our-hands-of-thee-and-leave-you-to-thy-fate-you-poor-sod_ kind of silence.)

 

Moore is breathing hard and looking absolutely livid. _Now would be a good time to back down, Netter. Stop bothering your sort-of friend and let him cool off._ Netter figures that this is excellent advice and should be followed immediately.

 

(On the other hand, Netter rarely listens to good advice, least of all from himself.)

 

“I’ve done much worse and I wasn’t a bother _then_ ,” Netter is a bit defensive. And maybe a tiny, _teeny-tiny_ bit hurt at Moore’s reaction. “What gives?”

 

“What gives? _What gives?_ ” Netter is momentarily distracted by the crack in Moore’s voice as his pitch reaches Birch Tower levels. It’s _cute_. No, bad Netter, not the time.

 

“How about the fact that you’ve _barely_ done any work in the past hour and a half, and you have the fucking _audacity_ to distract me from _my_ work like this is all a fucking game to you?”

 

Moore’s entire being is a study in barely kept rage – in his flushed face, his clenched fists, the glint in his eyes and the barely perceptible shaking in his voice. It feels like a lifetime ago, when Netter last saw this anger, and he doesn’t miss it. "Well, _newsflash_!This is twenty-fucking-percent of our grade and your bloody _genius_ isn’t gonna be enough to let you coast through a 40-page written report and a ten-minute presentation, because you actually need to fucking _work_ for this shit!”

 

 _Oh._ Moore looks ready to erupt with another rant, so Netter hurries to cut him off.

 

“I finished my part almost an hour ago, Moore.”

 

Moore pulls up short. “ _What?_ ”

 

Netter shrugs in response. “I sent my file to the group chat earlier. Jeez, Moore, did you really think I’d prioritize _play_ over _schoolwork_? For a _six unit_ subject?” Netter falls silent after his short tirade. Moore’s assumption stings, but Netter brushes it off. He knows he comes across as carefree, as someone who never has to work for any of his knowledge or understanding because he’s lauded as a _genius_. Netter is used to it.

 

(But he knows the value of hard work, of late nights spent eking out perfection from uncooperative papers, of late nights spent eking out perfection from uncooperative papers, of tears and blood and sweat and carpal tunnel syndrome threatening to take away the craft he holds most dear.  Netter pours out his very soul into everything he does –  his work, his life, his _art_  – because his standards demand no less.

 

People see _effortless_ , so they think _no effort_. Netter is _used to this_.) 

 

If Moore notices Netter’s sudden quiet, he doesn’t say anything about it. Moore seems to have downloaded Netter’s file and is reading through it rapidly, brows furrowing in concentration. Netter knows he did a spectacular job. He quietly resigns himself to pandering and prepares his smile.

 

“I’m sorry,” Moore says, after a contemplative silence. _I should’ve known a genius like you would finish this quickly. You barely had to try, huh?_ Netter wonders what kind of variation Moore will come up with.

 

“I should know by now that you always pull your own weight.” Wait, _what?_ “We’ve worked together before, and I _do_ know that you take things seriously. I’m sorry. I didn’t see the file earlier.”

 

 _How long?_ How long has it been since anyone cared to acknowledge the things he’s done beyond placating nods and sneering envy? How long since his accomplishments were met with ‘ _you did great!’_ instead of ‘ _just as expected from you’_? Since his antics were taken with humor and not _‘why don’t you ever take anything seriously’_?

 

Because it isn’t until Moore utters those words that Netter grasps how much he has been yearning to hear them – and then he is abruptly struck by the uncomfortable realization that _he does not know how to deal with this_.

  

“Netter?”

 

Fuck, Moore is looking a bit worried now. Netter must have such a stupid expression on his face, he’s been quiet for way too long – “Uh, it’s fine, I suppose I was pretty distracting and. Stuff. Uhm.”  

 

Moore snorts, but the worry melts off his mien. “ _Annoying_. But yeah, I’ve dealt with worse from you. I’m usually good at tuning you out –”

  

“Hey, now.”

 

“– but this report has been pissing me off and it pissed me off even more when I thought you were goofing off when there was still work to be done.”

               

Netter flounders for an appropriate response. “Er. Um, right. But I should’ve clarified earlier. I’m sorry. I can be pretty, ah, _annoying,_ ” _gah, admitting that was painful_ , “and I guess I should start learning to tune it down.”

 

Moore looks at Netter oddly. “I don’t really mind, you know. You’re pretty good at toeing the line between ignorable nuisance and unforgivable pest. I’m used to it.” He tilts his head, chapped lips pursed in thought. “Like I said, it was the fact that I thought you weren’t working that threw me off.” Moore grabs his coffee from Netter’s slack grip and takes a sip. “You’re kind of enjoyable, otherwise.”  

 

 _Thump_. Netter’s cheeks are inexplicably heating up and he resists the urge to duck his head. What does he even say to _that?_ Stupid _Moore_.  

 

Thankfully, Moore has gone back to typing and seemingly hasn’t noticed Netter’s few seconds of speechlessness, or the very inopportune vasodilation of his facial vessels. What the fuck kind of bullshit sympathetic system response is that? How is blushing supposed to help a species survive when it predisposes human beings to _dying of mortification?_

 

(In the background, the peon and the stooges are studiously avoiding eye-contact. The sounds of their typing are full of blatant scrutiny. Netter ignores them.)

 

Netter gathers all his composure and every scrap of his remaining dignity. “Shall I take that as blanket permission to pester you as much as I want so long as I’ve finished with whatever work I’m supposed to have finished?” Smarmy grin, check. Wiggling eyebrows, check. Netter is _fucking_ _suave_.

 

“You’re an annoying pain in the _ass_ ,” Moore intones, fond and exasperated in equal measure. Netter spies the tiny uptick in the corner of Moore’s lips and thinks, _cute_. He feels a similar smile tugging at his own mouth.

 

Huh.

 

* * *

 

Netter is a _consummate professional_.

 

As such, he does _not_ laugh at Moore’s bumbling attempts at acting like some chipper talk-show host for their group activity. _Honestly, what is with this school and its abundance of role-playing requirements_? Netter is absolutely _not_ hiding his chuckles as tiny coughs, and his shaking is from the _cold_ , not suppressed laughter.

 

Moore does not _do_ chipper, and his attempts at emulating the trait are painful and hilarious. Painfully hilarious. But no, Netter is a good, supportive, professional groupmate who will stay in character like a true pro. He will be helpful and non-judgey.

 

“Why did you even pick this role?” There. Non-judgey. Netter gives himself a mental pat on the back.

 

Moore doesn’t see it that way, if the glare he levels at Netter is any indication. “I’m trying to step out of my comfort zone and broaden my interpersonal horizons,” he says through gritted teeth. Netter raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“Right.”

 

“No, really.”

 

“This isn’t even graded, why would you put yourself through this trauma? We have like five other groupmates who can do it.”

 

Moore sighs dejectedly. “I want to practice being charming.”

 

Oh dear god, Moore is _precious_. “I think you’re plenty charming,” Netter assures him. Moore does not look very reassured.

 

“I _mean_ , I want to practice engaging an audience and holding their attention. I’m terrible at public speaking.”

              

Netter doesn’t really understand. He’s always been good with people, as an audience at least. Individuals are a bit of a hit-and-miss. But, well, Netter can appreciate that Moore is acknowledging his weaknesses and making an effort to work on them in a controlled environment. Moore is amazing _._ Netter doesn’t know how to help, but he’ll offer his support regardless.

 

Moore mumbles something that Netter doesn’t catch.

 

Netter blinks. “Pardon?”

 

Moore is turning a rather interesting shade of red. _What a_ _smol kidney-bean_. “I said, could you give me tips? You’re a really good speaker.” Netter simply shrugs.

 

“I’m just being myself.”

 

“Helpful, thanks,” Moore says huffily. Netter eyes him.

 

“I think you should just be yourself, too.”

 

 _What?_ Moore doesn’t have to look so horrified, it’s a valid suggestion!  _Also, stop welcoming flies into your mouth, sheesh._

 

“ _Um?_ Did you miss the general," his hand flaps around, "awkwardness, embarrassing-ness, clumsiness, and the overall –” Moore makes a flailing gesture that Netter hopes doesn’t hit anything, “ – _me_ -ness?”

 

Netter can’t deny that his chipper-attempts have failed spectacularly. But then again, Moore doesn’t _do_ chipper. Netter decides to proceed in the most tactful manner possible.

 

“You’re trying too hard to act enthusiastic and happy and it’s really painful to watch.” Hah, nailed it. Moore makes a token protest, but Netter blitzes through. “Because it _isn’t_ you and at this stage of your personality development it’s not helpful to force it.”

 

Netter knows that Moore is actually a great speaker if he isn’t overthinking. The only thing left now is to make him see.

 

“You have a way with words that makes things easy to understand without oversimplifying. Your voice is soothing without being sleep-inducing, and when you really like a topic, your passion and enthusiasm bleed into it so things get more interesting just by default.” Granted, this hasn’t happened in front of an audience, but the potential is _there_. “You’re _already_ a good speaker.”

 

Moore still isn’t quite convinced. “Not in front of a crowd, no.” _Ugh_ , it shouldn’t be possible to see one’s own brain, but Netter’s eyes make a valiant effort.

 

“No, and that’s what you’re working on, right? But very _badly_. Because you’re so focused on acquiring the traits you _think_ you should have, you’re neglecting the good traits that you _do_ have. Don’t forget to play to your _strengths_ , Moore.”

 

It would be a waste for him not to. Moore is an incredible person, brilliant and patient and bridling with passion. As funny as it is to watch him flounder, Netter knows he would hate for that happy-go-lucky-façade to be the default shell that Moore takes on in front of an audience. He won’t shine like that, and Moore’s radiance doesn’t deserve to be covered. Netter sighs.

 

“Where did you even get the idea that _that_ act should be the kind of speaker you aspire to be?” Because Netter is liable to punch whoever put the image in Moore’s head. For the good of humankind.

 

“You, of course,” Moore is pinking at the cheeks, but he doesn’t even hesitate to prod on. Also. _What?_ Should Netter be offended? “You’re really charismatic, you can make people feel at ease, and I look up to you for that, you know?” _Oh for fuck’s sake_. Moore is bad for Netter’s heart. How can he say such embarrassing things so easily? _“_ You’re amazing.”

 

 _Fuck_. “You’re amazing all on your own, too.” _Completely, utterly_. “You don’t need to copy me. Go with what’s natural for _you_.” Moore is red now, and Netter cannot deal. Abort. _Abort._

 

“I _guess_.” Ah, familiar ground. Moore clears his throat, “But that doesn’t change the fact that our skit calls for a chipper host, and since you so _magnanimously_ decreed that it doesn’t work for me –”

 

“Yes, yes. Fine, I’ll take your role.”

 

Moore’s grin is _blinding_. Netter looks away under the pretense of familiarizing himself with their script, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Moore, in the meantime, cheerily volunteers to man the PowerPoint presentation. During the ensuing hum of work, Netter sneaks another glance.

 

Moore has always been stunning. Even back when they were more on the _enemies_ side of the _frenemies_ spectrum, Netter has always appreciated the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek, the unruly locks that frame his face. Netter appreciates beauty, is a _connoisseur_ of it, even. Netter is an artist, after all. Moore’s beauty is nothing new to him.

 

But in this moment, in the soft glow of the laptop screen bathing Moore’s features in a gentle light, there is a trickle. An almost imperceptible shift in alignment. This moment, and a collection of moments in the past months – almost a year, now – falling, slotting, settling. A tiny piece of _something_ clicks into place.

 

_Oh._

 

Netter is many, many things. Artist. Genius. Occasional nuisance. But he is not a liar, especially not to himself.

 

 (And right now, Netter is a man in need of a  _plan_.)

**Author's Note:**

> moore: *is sincere*
> 
> netter *wheezing*: w-wha - *internal screaming* the f u c k
> 
>  
> 
> (kudos and comments are much appreciated hehe have a great day ppl)


End file.
